Emma was in the hallway, screaming. My sister was five years old and easily frightened. I wandered through the nearest door, sighing.
“What is it, Emma?” I asked, finding her at the front door. “Stop screaming; it’s okay.”
“Ghost!” Emma yelled, hysterical. She pointed to the warped panel of glass in the door-frame; a pale, hazy stranger hovered just behind it.
“Come away,” I murmured, taking her little hand in mine. But I hadn’t the heart to tell her.
As we drifted off together, a woman marched down the hallway; passing right through us on her way to answer the door.